I’m fond of the analogy that likens us to pieces of a jigsaw puzzle.
Recently I’ve come across articles suggesting that we live in a matrix reality, that we are like goldfish in a goldfish bowl swimming round and round a limited reality created by superior beings, and that it is incumbent upon us to escape. The strategy for escape that some are suggesting is a kind of uploading of our thoughts to a large (or perhaps not so large) memory stick, thus ensuring immortality and freedom. There is some truth in this.
Years ago, before indigo children were being spoken of, I was approached in meditation by a beautiful being preparing to incarnate. He told me he would be born in China and that we would probably never meet in person. Beyond that I know nothing of him. He asked for help, saying that many would be coming to Earth over the next few decades who would benefit from a greater understanding and appreciation for who they are and what their purpose is.
Sitting on a cloud looking down on the life you are about to embark on, maybe it looks easy. Maybe it looks a breeze. But here now, living it, maybe sometimes it feels like you are under a cloud. What then? Well, clouds pass; we know that. But when you are waiting for the sun to come out again it can feel like the cloud has forgotten to move and is just going to sit there forever. Stuck with your own personal thundercloud, your very own deluge drenching you day and night.
On a hill outside a small town in Europe a group of mathematicians, musicians and meditators are gathered. They are using electro-magnetic fields to move the moisture in the air of late afternoon until the dampness turns here and there to a thin mist. The pure notes of the musicians hold these mists still in places and the sunlight on them creates rainbows. All of the men and women here, children too, some in silence, some softly singing, begin to weave iridescent patterns in the networks of droplets that are floating on the air.
A group of girls – there are seven or eight of them – all belong to the same church in a wealthy area of a North American city. They love to cook. They do not see why anyone in their city should be hungry. They cook with love.
By the time they are eight years old their pastor has let them take over the church kitchen. Each weekend and on evenings too they pour love into cakes and cookies. They give them to anyone who wants. People bring them ingredients. Word gets around. But although there is some publicity, mostly they avoid it.
A warm sea and a silver beach; here the children grow up in and out the water all the time. They are accomplished divers from an early age and take to sitting together in a circle underwater in the shallows holding hands. They can communicate better this way, tuning into each other’s thoughts and feelings and creating jokes.
Five children grow up in an orphanage. Some of their carers sing beautifully and these children pick up songs as easily as breathing. They love to sing together, and begin to develop a scale that’s not been heard before. The harmonies they create when they sing together move people profoundly. It seems their music has healing qualities for people’s spirits recover when these children sing and fevers subside – even injuries mend more quickly.